


One Season Following Another

by Newtdew25



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Cameos from Bitty's family, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Jewish Jack Zimmermann, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtdew25/pseuds/Newtdew25
Summary: From working on an assignment for Women, Food, & American Culture to a spring family gathering, the kitchen seems to be the perfect place for Eric and Jack to reflect on their feelings for one another.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	1. Autumn, 2014

**Author's Note:**

> As I was struggling to write this, my copy of the Chirpbook came in the mail. Perhaps it was Johnson's way of nudging me towards finishing it. Also, much of the dialogue of Chapter 1 was lifted directly from Year 2, Chapter 6 of the comics.

_ “Um, Bittle…” _

_ “I got your back.” _

According to Shitty, the Haus kitchen had never been used for anything more than pizza pockets and weed brownies before Eric had stepped through the front door. Yet through vicious scrubbing, cleaning, and doing everything short of ripping the boards out of the floor, the kitchen had been restored to its former glory. 

For one, the oven no longer set off the fire alarm whenever it was opened.

At the sink, Eric took a break from stacking the dishes in the pit to just listen to Jack talking about his meeting with George and his different signing options. Though Jack’s tone of voice was as soft and reserved as it usually was, there was an undeniable lightness in the way he spoke of the possibility of playing in California. Of course, his heart sank a bit at the prospect of Jack being so far from Faber, from Samwell.

From him.

Eric sighed softly as he looked at the small hula doll on the windowsill that Ransom had brought in to “spruce up the place.” It was almost childish to wish that Jack could just stay in the Haus. He’d had rolls of parchment paper that lasted longer than he’d known the man for, not to mention that graduation was coming closer with each passing day. Yet there was a fondness in his heart for the quiet company that Jack provided both on and off the rink.

_ “Certainly a far cry from the gruff soul who threw me in the crucible with those early morning checking sessions.” _

He was brought down to Earth by a marked shift in Jack’s tone- a quiet curse in French, probably. “Bittle, I’m messing up your project,” Jack groans from behind him. “Look at this- it’s awful.”

Technically, it was  _ their  _ project- especially since Jack was putting in the physical effort of baking the pie- but Eric let it slide as he picked up the bag of flour he’d been meaning to put away. “Stop it,” he gently chides. “I’m sure it’s great; let me see-”

They both turn around and promptly collide with one another. Eric manages to keep the flour from spilling either on his sweater or on Jack’s apron while the other man kept the allegedly ruined pie safely in the air. “Excuse you! My kitchen is no place for checking!” Eric laughed, trying (and failing) to inject some annoyance into his voice.

“ _ Your  _ kitchen?”

“The kitchen!” He didn’t really mean it, but Eric  _ was  _ quite possessive of the room and everything that inhabited it. “Now move your big, uh…”

Jack’s eyebrow arches at the unfinished sentence, a smug grin growing on his face as he looks down at Eric. “My big…?” he echoed, a lilt in his voice.

In retaliation, Eric tossed some flour from the top of the bag at Jack. “I was asking about your professional hockey career, Mr. Zimmermann.” Once the bag was safely clipped and on the counter, he crossed his arms and turned to face him again.

Perhaps it was God or the universe or some other omnipotent force that sought to make Eric’s life difficult, but the clouds began to part above Samwell in that moment. Light filtered in through the window (that he’d been meaning to get curtains for, but hadn’t gotten the time to actually buy) and reflected off of the mixing bowls and whisk in the sink onto Jack’s face. Jack himself, caught up in explaining his plans for the future, didn’t seem to notice this development.

But Eric did. He noticed the way the flour he had weaponized stood out against the slick black of Jack’s hair and shirt. The way that it served to bring out the fading tinges of Jack’s summer tan. The way that Jack’s eyes blazed with an intensity that was normally reserved for the ice as he verbally plotted out his next steps after graduation and talked about the stars. 

The worst thing that Eric noticed was just how far he had fallen for the hockey prince, the son of Bad Bob, the irrevocably straight Jack Laurent Zimmermann. 

_ “Well, at least I have something to put in my next vlog.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments, kudos, or suggestions would be greatly appreciated!


	2. Spring, Present Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric and Jack try to share a few moments in the Bittle family kitchen. Jack muses about his husband and how they came to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set post-canon. How many years exactly is something I deliberately left up to your interpretation.

“Junior, need any help in there?”

“No thanks, Daddy! Got enough help here as it is!”

Jack snorted as he started putting the jars of ingredients away. “You don’t have to sound so disappointed,” he teased, stealing a glance at Eric as his husband artfully molded the crust of the last strawberry rhubarb pie they had been working on. “Though I would be willing to work harder if you gave me some incentive.”

Wiping his hands with a rag, Eric strode towards Jack and placed a hand on his chest. “And what, M. Jack Laurent Bittle, would that entail?” He then walked his fingers up towards Jack’s chin, a lopsided grin on his own face. “What do I have that the NHL doesn’t?”

“Bits… Don’t tempt me here, not right now.” Despite his protests, Jack placed a hand on Eric’s waist and pulled him closer. Even in a sport as physical as hockey, he had never been one for being tactile; Eric had managed to chip away at that reservation over the years. 

“Dicky, are you and Jack doing alright in there? Do you need help with the new oven?”

Eric groaned quietly as he pulled away from their near-embrace. “Mama, I helped install the oven- we’re okay!” He managed to compose himself as he looked back up at Jack with a sheepish smile. “Oh gosh- every year, I forget just how stressful family dinners can get.” While Jack had gone home whenever Passover came around, his family wasn’t as strict about getting together throughout the year. Meanwhile, the two halves of the Bittle clan were gathered both within and without the house.

Jack just chuckled as he admired the detailwork of the pie crust. “So, did you hear back from your publisher yet?” For the past few months, Eric had been caught up in back and forth emails and phone calls about a sequel to his recipe book. It was a slight risk to branch out from desserts, but Eric insisted on showing the world (or, at least, the places outside of Georgia) that there was a wider variety of comfort foods that one could make from the South. From the tidbits Jack had picked up from his husband’s phone conversations with his family, there would be pages for both Suzanne and Aunt Judy’s jam recipes, though Eric had refused to disclose which one came first.

“Oh, we actually had a breakthrough last night! You see, when Rowen asked about the photographs for the different sections, I remembered that Uncle Drew has a coworker who has a background in interior design, so he called him and…”

As Eric continued talking, Jack was taken in by just how much his husband’s face lit up whenever he got excited. Of course, this was nothing new- he’d been there for victories on the ice, Beyoncé performances, convocation ceremonies for the Wellies that Eric had come to cherish, their wedding-

_ “Well, of course I had to be there.” _

It was still difficult for Jack to imagine that  _ this  _ was his life now, that he had a fulfilling, nurturing life outside of hockey. His therapist once described it as a journey through a cave that only had a small beam of light at the end. For so long, he had clung to the NHL as his reason for living, only for the cave to open up around him and show all the light around him. Happiness and success  _ were  _ everywhere, not just in professional hockey. Jack knew that he had his friends and family to thank for helping to chip away at the darkness that enclosed him for so long.

And Eric… so much of his life had been changed by this man who just wouldn’t quit, no matter what life threw at him. They were the same, in that respect. However, while Jack had resigned himself to a lonely path, Eric had thrived on winning people over with kindness (and baked goods). And when neither of those would do, he would simply dismiss them with the most caustic, scathing remark any Southerner could give; “Bless your heart.”

Part of him wondered if it was the difference in personalities that nearly drove them apart when they first met. Between the surly comments about protein and the early morning checking clinics, Jack was impressed that Eric still made the effort to be kind towards him. If the positions were reversed, Jack figured he would have still gone through with it, but their relationship would have been cold and entirely professional. Yet Eric had refused to give up, both in hockey and kindness. Jack still wasn’t sure what he’d done that G-d had blessed him with this amazing husband.

“Heavens to Betsy,” Eric suddenly muttered, prompting Jack to stop daydreaming about, well, him. “Would you look at that? The crust on top’s sinking into the filling!” He then moved away to get a rag to wipe his hands with.

Jack reached down to try and fix the strips of dough so that they would stay put, but he mostly succeeded in getting filling all over his fingers. “ _ Merde _ .” As he lifted his hands up to step away before he caused more damage, he ended up swiping streaks of the stuff across Eric’s face. “Ah, Bits, sorry, let me just…” 

It turns out that trying to wipe someone’s face clean while your own hands are dirty only succeeds in smearing the mess around. “Honey, honey!” Eric laughed as he tried to push his husband’s hands away. “Just use this!” With his eyes closed, he blindly tried to push the rag into Jack’s hands.

_ “Yeah,”  _ Jack thought as he cleaned his fingers before carefully wiping the filling off of Eric’s face.  _ “This makes more sense.”  _ Once the last of it was gone, he set the rag aside and cupped the man’s chin, making him look up.

“Something on your mind, Jack?”

“Maybe,” he answered teasingly. Even as they kissed, Jack managed to hum a few bars of Ray Charles before they were interrupted by a knock on the wall.

“Now, Dickie, I love both you and your husband, but that might change if you two don’t get those pies done for dinner time.”

“Sorry, Aunt Judy!” It was only once the woman had left them alone that Eric rolled his eyes. “Gosh, I don’t know how I dealt with so many distractions in the past.” With that, he pushed up his sleeves and popped all three of the pies into the oven before getting to work on the dishes littering the counter.

As the spring clouds were pushed along by the breeze, Jack noticed the passion in Eric’s eyes as he meticulously piled everything in the sink. The way that his biceps, just barely peeking out from the confines of his dress shirt, flexed with each movement of his arms. The way that the incoming light only served to make his hair glow as though it were made of gold itself.

The best thing that Jack noticed was how even after several years of marriage and many more of knowing him, his heart still stumbled over a few beats every time he was with Eric Richard Bittle.

_ “And here’s to many more to come, Bits.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments, kudos, or suggestions would be greatly appreciated!


End file.
